This week, on JOL...
[I'm bored, so I came up with this entry for today. It is based on an online game we are currently playing. I might continue the series if I feel so motivated.]
The elegant Victorian mansion was dark. Though it often looked abandoned, it was in fact one of the most secure properties in the city. The derelict appearance was intentional, simply to dissuade the general public from investigating the monstrous abode. Not that anyone trekked up the northern hills of the city anymore, nor could they get past the surrounding acres of wilderness that was constantly under surveillance. The sight of the home was really to serve as a first warning: do not approach if you value your life.
The night sky was clear, the air cold and crisp. Dragos stepped on to the third floor balcony and took in the sight of the city. He took a deep breath and felt the cool air penetrate into his body. It was delightfully painful. He let it out slowly, savoring it. It made him wonder if he should take another breath. For Dragos was not a man, but a vampire. Though he looked like a normal Eastern European man, with long black hair and a goatee, he was a monster. And he loved being one.
Taking another look at the night lights of the city, he grabbed his bone-handled walking stick and turned back towards the entrance to the room. Adjusting the ruffled cuffs of his silk shirt and the sleeves of his masterfully woven purple overcoat, he looked up at the shadows - and to the cloaked man standing there.
"Villon, you say?" Dragos repeated back, his accent thick.
The cloaked figure did not say a word. He was not in the habit of repeating himself.
"Why is the Prince of Paris coming to our city?" Dragos asked rhetorically. "The Camarilla know better than to enter the borders."
"It is not just the Toreador," the shrouded figure croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, "But, the Leatherface."
"Beast?" Dragos laughed. "He is no threat to me. As long as he stays in his sewers, I am not worried about him."
You should be, thought Egothha, the vampire in the long, brown cloak. It is not long until he is at your doorstep.
Dragos peered at the other vampire, wondering what was going on in Egothha's mind. When the Harbinger was quiet, the Tzimisce worried slightly. There was always more going on than the members of Egothha's clan let on, but Dragos could not see how Egothha could be getting the upper hand on him - yet.
The Tzimisce places his hand on the pink flesh that stood by the edge of the door. Like many others of his clan, Dragos had constructed his mansion with the remains of many living creatures - using his ability to craft living tissue into something hideous. It was not complete work, but it was a start.
He loved especially how the tissue glistened with moisture.
"I will deal with the Prince," Dragos said, finally. "When that is done, we can discuss other issues."
Egothha nodded. He simply wanted to keep Francois Villon occupied, to prevent the Camarilla from poking their nose into his affairs. Then he would be free to concentrate on the others in the city that would undermine him. The Beast would have allies, and exposing them would be his first priority.
The silence from Dragos indicated the meeting was at a close. Egothha bowed to the Tzimisce and began to walk into the flesh-covered room, making his way toward the stairs down to the first floor.
Dragos turned to shut the door to the balcony, closing out the cold air for the warm moisture of the living tomb. He paused, looking once more at the night sky.
Perhaps we could get some help, he thought. A mortal contact might keep our enemies at bay...
He called the revenant servant into the room, bidding him close. The horribly misshapen ghoul limped into the room, hunched over and dragging one arm limply on the ground behind him.
"Activate Carlton Van Wyk," Dragos murmured. "We can feed him enough information to keep our enemies at bay."
With a wave, he dismissed the ghoul. Finally closing and locking the doors, Dragon grinned evilly.
The game is on.
*****
"I can't believe zat zee infernalists are here," Francois muttered. "And zey lie in zee bed of zee hunters."
"It could be worse than that," replied the man dressed in a loose fitting, but sturdy, black leather jacket. "I only heard about it after the Baali was attacked. Her allies pulled her to safety, but she was likely in torpor. Dragos messed her up pretty good."
"He is good at zat," Villon sat back in his chair. "Infamous for it, one could zay."
The Prince sat back and thought about the situation. The city was turning into a battleground faster than he expected. His mission was to reinforce the Camarilla presence here, striking down those who might stand in the way of the sect, but now it appeared that they were ready for him. He quickly found there was only one other vampire in the city he could associate with, and only because of his associations with the Prince of Frankfurt. Theo Bell hadn't proven himself trustworthy, just the only possibly ally in a storm of enemies.
"And what does Volker want you to do here?"
"Volker doesn't know I am here," Bell replied, giving Villon a glance over his sunglasses, "At least, not yet. I have been tracking down Beast again, trying to destroy that monster. Someone turned him loose, and got him out of Detroit, and I've got to figure out who - and finally put an end to his rampage. Luckily, all he's seemed to do now is turn his anger on to members of his own sect. The Harbinger fell first."
"One of zee Harbingers," Villon grabbed a file folder and opened it. "There is another. And Dragos is helping zem. I tried to prevent zis new one from entering the city, but zee Tzimisce got in zee way. However, I was able to obtain quite a bit of information on zeir power structure and plans..."
"Agaitas, most likely," Theo said, finally taking a seat opposite the Toreador. For the long standing animosity between the Brujah and the Toreador within the Camarilla, we are playing nice, he thought. It's the need for survival. It gets you the strangest friends.
"Yes," Villon says, "You are probably right. Zey seem to be focused on several key manufacturing and 'production' facilities zroughout the city."
"The slaughterhouses, especially."
Francois turned up his nose slightly, seemingly revulsed by the topic - or the array of pictures provided him in the file.
"And zey are focused on zee removal of zee sewer denizens, too. Zee Nosferatu are having troubles."
Bell sat closer, suddenly more interested. "That would explain Egothha's run-in with the Beast."
"Zere may be a Nosferatu involved..."
His voice trailed off, suddenly drawn to the window. A white van was parked outside.
"Zat's strange," the Prince said, getting to his feet to get a better look at the vehicle. It seemed to be covered with a large number of electronic devices.
The intercom crackled to life. "Sir," a voice came over it, "There are vehicles surrounding the building - several men in suits and labcoats are milling about outside-"
The message was interrupted by the sound of a helicopter passing overhead. A spotlight shone over the top of the building, briefly penetrating Villon's office. Bell made sure he was far out of the path of that beam, and was quickly distancing himself from any view of the window.
"Magadon," Villon growled. "Zey are owned by Pentex and-" He looked up at Bell, but the Archon was gone.
So much for allies.
"Sir, should we...?" crackled the intercom once more.
"No, Stephen," Villon sighed. "We are not doing anything. Not now."
He clicked off the intercom and reached for his cell phone. He didn't want to do this, but he had no choice. The phone barely rung before the other end was engaged.
"Zis is Villon..." he paused, waiting for the other side to confirm and secure the line. After a moment, he was given the all-clear. "Allo, Alexandra?"
The elegant Victorian mansion was dark. Though it often looked abandoned, it was in fact one of the most secure properties in the city. The derelict appearance was intentional, simply to dissuade the general public from investigating the monstrous abode. Not that anyone trekked up the northern hills of the city anymore, nor could they get past the surrounding acres of wilderness that was constantly under surveillance. The sight of the home was really to serve as a first warning: do not approach if you value your life.
The night sky was clear, the air cold and crisp. Dragos stepped on to the third floor balcony and took in the sight of the city. He took a deep breath and felt the cool air penetrate into his body. It was delightfully painful. He let it out slowly, savoring it. It made him wonder if he should take another breath. For Dragos was not a man, but a vampire. Though he looked like a normal Eastern European man, with long black hair and a goatee, he was a monster. And he loved being one.
Taking another look at the night lights of the city, he grabbed his bone-handled walking stick and turned back towards the entrance to the room. Adjusting the ruffled cuffs of his silk shirt and the sleeves of his masterfully woven purple overcoat, he looked up at the shadows - and to the cloaked man standing there.
"Villon, you say?" Dragos repeated back, his accent thick.
The cloaked figure did not say a word. He was not in the habit of repeating himself.
"Why is the Prince of Paris coming to our city?" Dragos asked rhetorically. "The Camarilla know better than to enter the borders."
"It is not just the Toreador," the shrouded figure croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, "But, the Leatherface."
"Beast?" Dragos laughed. "He is no threat to me. As long as he stays in his sewers, I am not worried about him."
You should be, thought Egothha, the vampire in the long, brown cloak. It is not long until he is at your doorstep.
Dragos peered at the other vampire, wondering what was going on in Egothha's mind. When the Harbinger was quiet, the Tzimisce worried slightly. There was always more going on than the members of Egothha's clan let on, but Dragos could not see how Egothha could be getting the upper hand on him - yet.
The Tzimisce places his hand on the pink flesh that stood by the edge of the door. Like many others of his clan, Dragos had constructed his mansion with the remains of many living creatures - using his ability to craft living tissue into something hideous. It was not complete work, but it was a start.
He loved especially how the tissue glistened with moisture.
"I will deal with the Prince," Dragos said, finally. "When that is done, we can discuss other issues."
Egothha nodded. He simply wanted to keep Francois Villon occupied, to prevent the Camarilla from poking their nose into his affairs. Then he would be free to concentrate on the others in the city that would undermine him. The Beast would have allies, and exposing them would be his first priority.
The silence from Dragos indicated the meeting was at a close. Egothha bowed to the Tzimisce and began to walk into the flesh-covered room, making his way toward the stairs down to the first floor.
Dragos turned to shut the door to the balcony, closing out the cold air for the warm moisture of the living tomb. He paused, looking once more at the night sky.
Perhaps we could get some help, he thought. A mortal contact might keep our enemies at bay...
He called the revenant servant into the room, bidding him close. The horribly misshapen ghoul limped into the room, hunched over and dragging one arm limply on the ground behind him.
"Activate Carlton Van Wyk," Dragos murmured. "We can feed him enough information to keep our enemies at bay."
With a wave, he dismissed the ghoul. Finally closing and locking the doors, Dragon grinned evilly.
The game is on.
*****
"I can't believe zat zee infernalists are here," Francois muttered. "And zey lie in zee bed of zee hunters."
"It could be worse than that," replied the man dressed in a loose fitting, but sturdy, black leather jacket. "I only heard about it after the Baali was attacked. Her allies pulled her to safety, but she was likely in torpor. Dragos messed her up pretty good."
"He is good at zat," Villon sat back in his chair. "Infamous for it, one could zay."
The Prince sat back and thought about the situation. The city was turning into a battleground faster than he expected. His mission was to reinforce the Camarilla presence here, striking down those who might stand in the way of the sect, but now it appeared that they were ready for him. He quickly found there was only one other vampire in the city he could associate with, and only because of his associations with the Prince of Frankfurt. Theo Bell hadn't proven himself trustworthy, just the only possibly ally in a storm of enemies.
"And what does Volker want you to do here?"
"Volker doesn't know I am here," Bell replied, giving Villon a glance over his sunglasses, "At least, not yet. I have been tracking down Beast again, trying to destroy that monster. Someone turned him loose, and got him out of Detroit, and I've got to figure out who - and finally put an end to his rampage. Luckily, all he's seemed to do now is turn his anger on to members of his own sect. The Harbinger fell first."
"One of zee Harbingers," Villon grabbed a file folder and opened it. "There is another. And Dragos is helping zem. I tried to prevent zis new one from entering the city, but zee Tzimisce got in zee way. However, I was able to obtain quite a bit of information on zeir power structure and plans..."
"Agaitas, most likely," Theo said, finally taking a seat opposite the Toreador. For the long standing animosity between the Brujah and the Toreador within the Camarilla, we are playing nice, he thought. It's the need for survival. It gets you the strangest friends.
"Yes," Villon says, "You are probably right. Zey seem to be focused on several key manufacturing and 'production' facilities zroughout the city."
"The slaughterhouses, especially."
Francois turned up his nose slightly, seemingly revulsed by the topic - or the array of pictures provided him in the file.
"And zey are focused on zee removal of zee sewer denizens, too. Zee Nosferatu are having troubles."
Bell sat closer, suddenly more interested. "That would explain Egothha's run-in with the Beast."
"Zere may be a Nosferatu involved..."
His voice trailed off, suddenly drawn to the window. A white van was parked outside.
"Zat's strange," the Prince said, getting to his feet to get a better look at the vehicle. It seemed to be covered with a large number of electronic devices.
The intercom crackled to life. "Sir," a voice came over it, "There are vehicles surrounding the building - several men in suits and labcoats are milling about outside-"
The message was interrupted by the sound of a helicopter passing overhead. A spotlight shone over the top of the building, briefly penetrating Villon's office. Bell made sure he was far out of the path of that beam, and was quickly distancing himself from any view of the window.
"Magadon," Villon growled. "Zey are owned by Pentex and-" He looked up at Bell, but the Archon was gone.
So much for allies.
"Sir, should we...?" crackled the intercom once more.
"No, Stephen," Villon sighed. "We are not doing anything. Not now."
He clicked off the intercom and reached for his cell phone. He didn't want to do this, but he had no choice. The phone barely rung before the other end was engaged.
"Zis is Villon..." he paused, waiting for the other side to confirm and secure the line. After a moment, he was given the all-clear. "Allo, Alexandra?"